An Unbroken Oath
by AlSmash
Summary: He had sworn an oath over his Empress' grave that he would protect her children.  And for six years he had languished in the knowledge that he had failed that oath.  Now he has found her and intends to honor that oath with his very heart and soul.  But how do you protect someone who refuses to live? Fem!Lelouch
1. Reunion

_**This was an idea that came to me last night that refused to leave. Hopefully though, this will be the first and ONLY Fem!Lelouch fic I will ever write, as it is something that I honestly never find myself that comfortable with.**_

 _ **Anyways, on to the story.**_

 **An Unbroken Oath**

 **Chapter 1**

 ** _Reunion_**

"Lord Jeremiah— _Lord Jeremiah!_ "

Orange eyes opened, slowly focusing as their owner slowly reverted back to reality. A dream of raven hair, laughter, and memories of a happier time fading into nothingness, bringing him back to a cold, bleak, existence that had been his life for years now.

Releasing a deep, shuddering breath, he buried his sorrow and misgivings behind a carefully crafted mask of professionalism that he _had_ to perfect over the years. It was a survival trait that had served him well over the years, allowing him to survive a black stain upon his honor that had consumed others.

"What is it, Villetta," he asked, acknowledging his subordinate, silently chastising himself for how _raw_ his voice remained.

"We're about five minutes out," Villetta quietly noted, averting her gaze in deference for the man responsible for her rise in the Purist Faction. If it wasn't for Jeremiah's more egalitarianistic stance in regards to personal capability, it was likely she would never have risen to where she was. As a result, she was perfectly willing to look the other way in Jeremiah Gottwald's more vulnerable moments.

Like on certain days that were of importance to the Margrave, days that happened to coincide with things like birthdays of his former charges.

"Thank you, Villetta," he responded after a moment, choosing to close his eyes again, centering himself and grasping the small kernel of hope that rested in his breast that had refused to be extinguished.

Had it really been six years?

He still remembered those halcyon days, being assigned to guard the Aries Palace, home of Empress Marianne vi Britannia and her children. It had been the highlight of his career up until that point, hell, it had been the highlight of his life. The Empress had been an accessible woman who had shown an interest in all of her guards, personally acknowledging each and every one of them, establishing a rapport that she honestly did not have to.

And her children, Princesses Luciana and Nunnally, they had been a light in his life that he hadn't even realized he needed.

Then it had been extinguished in one night of mindless violence.

He didn't even need to close his eyes to visualize the scene. It was like a waking nightmare for him even now. The sight of Empress Marianne, perforated by so many bullets, strewn over a Princess Nunnally, while Princess Luciana stood at the top of the stairs, her expression of horror just before she screamed.

He closed his eyes, fighting away the image for just a brief moment, as he tensed and twisted his head, the dueling sensations of pain and relief bringing a clarity that was needed now.

For six years, he had searched for any sign that the Princesses had survived the brutal invasion of Area 11, hoping that he could fulfill an oath he had made in blood at the late Empress Marianne's grave. And for each of those hellish six years, he had lived with the knowledge that it was more than likely that his blood oath had been made in vain.

At least, that had been until this morning, on what would have been the thirteenth birthday of Princess Nunnally. It had been an anonymous tip left simply for him, using the old channels he had set up back in his search for the Princesses when he had first arrived in Area 11, simply providing a time and a place.

The time had been this evening, but more worrisome, was the location in question. If it hadn't been through that old channel, he would have simply dismissed it: a 'resort' for those with money and influence to have their indiscretions catered to without the pesky limelight being shone upon them. It wasn't that it was unbelievable, not in the least, it was because it was one of the places that were normally off-limits to any interference by Britannian personnel. Too much money went in and out of that place, as a large proportion of the clientele were nobility, nobility that had the ear of Prince Clovis.

If it wasn't for the channel that the tip came through, he wouldn't have anything to do with this. It wasn't that he used the service, it was because he at least had cultivated a survival instinct to _know_ not to intervene. But the off-hand knowledge of _what_ went on in that place was enough for him to stay his reservations and organize a raid of the place, simply in the hope that his source was credible. Hell, it had been his only tip he had in years now.

The car coming to a stop as Villetta parked it was enough to pull him from his thoughts, as he took a minute to organize himself, but also gird himself for what he was likely to see. That done, he opened the door and stepped out, Villetta taking his lead and falling in behind him as he strode towards the van contained the rest of the strike team he had put together.

"Margrave," the leader saluted, and the other men with him snapped to attention.

"Sergeant," he greeted non-committedly, before casting a quick discerning eye over the rest of the team. This was a leap of faith that could set off a lot of political mines, the last thing he needed was someone going off half-cocked here, "you've briefed your men."

"Of course, my lord. We're ready for whatever you need of us."

He nodded, before unholstering his sidearm, taking a moment to check that a round had been chambered, before holstering it again, "Then let's get this done."

* * *

— **Unbroken Oath—**

* * *

It was a credit to the designers that the 'resort's appearance almost made him forget that he was entering what was an illegal facility. From the atmosphere, to the staff who milled about, if you didn't know what you were in, you would have easily been fooled. You would have also been helpfully 'guided' out of the facility by a smiling and cheerful staff as well—until you caused problems, of course.

And he was hell-bent on causing problems, as the pinched expression of the receptionist as she took in both himself, but also kitted and armed soldiers behind him, indicated that he was _not_ amused.

"Margrave Gottwald," the man greeted, plastering a fake smile on his face, "what brings you to our humble business. What may I interest you in?"

Casting his most imperious glare upon the man, giving the man a good indication of what he thought of scum like him, he reached into his pocket and took out a pair of pictures and held the up.

"I have been informed that you may have one of these people here," he declared, holding up pictures of both Princesses, age-adjusted to what they may look like today, "I want you to take me to them."

The fake smile grew more strained, "Margrave Gottwald, our clientele come to us for our discretion, if anyone can come-"

"I don't care," he growled, replacing the photos and choosing to lean forward just slightly, "what I care about is that I have been informed that you are harboring these individuals. If you do not take me to them, then I will tear this place apart, brick by brick, until I find them. Have I made _my interest_ clear?"

The receptionist's throat bobbed, their pallor becoming pasty, "Crystal."

"Then take me to them."

There was a moment's hesitation, obviously the receptionist looking for anyway to eject them, before finally accessing their computer and looking it over.

"Fumiko will take you to who you are looking for," the receptionist stated, not even working up the will to smile in his face, before turning his head and nodding to an Eleven who had stood to the side, watching and waiting for her orders, "Please take the Margrave to Room 3 of The Retreat."

The Eleven nodded, before motioning towards him.

"Villetta, with me," he commanded, "Sergeant, if we are not back in fifteen minutes, and I do not contact you otherwise, I want you to call in back-up and tear this place to the ground."

"Yes, My Lord."

With that done, he followed the Eleven, though he had drawn his sidearm, keeping it hidden under the cloak he wore, even as his heart was racing. The acknowledgement of the receptionist had rekindled a fire of hope into a roaring inferno, because the man _had_ recognized the Princesses. Finally, after six years, his hunt was ending, and he would be able to fulfill the oath that he had made.

It was only the knowledge that he was so close now kept him from losing himself in his thoughts as they crossed the campus of the facility, finally coming to entering another building. After a few more minutes, they arrived at a door, and the Eleven to the side.

"She is in here," Fumiko stated, bowing her head in subservience.

If Jeremiah had not been preparing himself, he would have heard the usage of the singular term. But it was for naught, as he simply girded himself, knowing that it was here, at this time, that he could begin his redemption: he could once agains serve the vi Britannia line.

Opening the door, he stepped inside, coming to a stop almost immediately inside the door, frozen as his mind attempted to process exactly what he was seeing. When he had been informed about this place, he honestly expected something that wasn't-so plain.

Yet that was what he was seeing as he stood in what was obviously a recreation of an apartment studio.

He was still standing there, trying to explain in his mind why his Princess would go for something a commoner would live in, when the sound of singing caught his ears. It was soft, melodious, and something that brought him back to his days in the Aries Palace. Unbidden, he slowly moved forward, like a sailor drawn to a siren, unmindful of the rocks that were in his path.

And rocks they were, as he rounded the corner, and came to a living room, and froze at the sight before him, his breath catching in his throat.

Even now, six years later, there was no way he would be able to mistake the vision before him. While she had certainly grown into a young woman from the child that she was, the features that shared so much with her materfamilias was indisputable, as were the raven tresses that, while now cut short into a pixie cut, were like midnight.

But it was what the entire vision before him, that caused him to forget to breathe, because of both the joy in the knowledge that he had finally found _them_ , but it was also the sense of loss that came with it in the knowledge that he was also far too late.

For sitting there, singing 'Happy Birthday' with a cake festooned with thirteen candles to a picture frame sitting in a wheelchair, her eyes glazed in the telltale sign of Refrain usage: Was Princess Luciana vi Britannia

* * *

 **I have a discord channel where you can chat with me as I try and work on new and existing stories, but also meet some fellow authors as well. You can join us at d** **iscord dot gg backslash 7w9BnYH**


	2. Like a Bird

**Chapter 2**

 **Like a Bird...**

The first thing that came to Luciana vi Britannia as the dopey haziness began to dissipate like brushed aside cobwebs as she woke up was that she was in bed. The second thing was that this was not any bed she was familiar with, as it was far too firm and the sheets too plain for anything she'd find acceptable; ignoring the faint scent of fresh oranges. And finally, there was the fact that she was dressed in a t-shirt far too big for her feminine frame.

A surge of panic fluttered in her chest, driving away the last vestiges of fog as cold logic started creeping in, taking stock of her situation. Judging by the fact that she was in a rather expensive bed was a good beginning. The second was the fact that outside of the groggy, cloudy feeling that nagged at the back of her head with some physical weakness that was indicative of Refrain usage, there was nothing further of note. Furthermore, the fact that they took the time of putting in a different set of clothes, yet retained her undergarments meant that whatever interest there was in here wasn't of the immediate sexual nature, thankfully.

So, that whittled down who may have her, and the fact that Kallen, Naoto, or Milly weren't at her bedside ready to chastise her meant that it was someone she likely didn't know, as she had a very small pool of friends.

But the fact that they didn't seem to be interested in posting a guard, nor chaining her, provided her at least with an opportunity.

Slowly, and as quietly as she could, she removed the bedsheets from her self and rolled herself over, placing her feet upon the expensive carpeting. For a moment, she sat there, letting the blood flow back to her legs and getting a feel for how they would respond once she put her weight upon them.

Unfortunately, they felt as jelly-like as she expected, which meant that it had only been a handful of hours since the Refrain had worn off. Just what the hell had she paid those idiots for if they could not ensure that she was not bothered? Was nothing sacred, she raged as she placed her weight upon them and fought to keep her balance.

Not wholly satisfied that her legs would be there for her if the need to exfiltrate was necessary, but not wanting to risk taking more time in the event that whoever her captor was had designs for her, she settled on her feet. That successful, she took in her surroundings, hopefully to find any clue on whoever it was that held her.

Unfortunately, though, none was forthcoming. Despite the obviously expensive bedset, there wasn't really anything personal on display. No photos, no items of personal achievements, in fact, the room seemed rather sparse, almost…

She frowned, not liking the conclusion she was coming to. Either her captor was military, because everything here screamed a spartanistic mindset, or they were extremely organized and impersonal, choosing not to flaunt themselves in their very quarters. And rather unfortunately, she was leaning towards the former.

So, whoever it was, was likely male by the scent, military, with money, which meant nobility or old money, as a military salary could not cover the thousands of pounds that she was sitting upon. So whoever it was that had her, likely recognized who she was, and what she meant.

Fortunately, that gave her a bit more room to operate, even if she despised the fact that fact that it was only in her moment of weakness, that she was now reduced to using what she had sworn to never use again.

That decided, she slowly rose on wobbly feet, and carefully, and as quietly as she could, crept to the door. There was no point in trying to find something to defend herself, as it was likely that whoever had placed her in that room likely had ensured she would have no way to defend herself. Carefully, she opened the door and peered out, making sure to avoid making any unnecessary sounds that could tip off her captor that she was awake.

It was only a short while until she heard voices, one male and female, and judging by the raised pitch of the female voice, it was more of an argument than a discussion. But what was being said was enough to freeze her.

"I don't know how much longer we can hide this, Jeremiah. Clovis has already been demanding answers as to why you launched that raid. It won't be long until he summons you."

"And what do we tell him," came the angry response, "that we somehow found the Third Princess of Britannia, drugged out of her mind on Refrain, in a facility that caters to the rich for whatever they please. Tell me how he is going to take that?!"

The silence was telling, as she crept closer, looking around the corner at the two people. Eyes widening as she recognized who the woman was, as the silver hair, mocha skin, and distinctive uniform told her all she needed to know.

And if that was Villetta Nu, then the other person, judging from the name drop of Jeremiah, could only be Jeremiah Gottwald, commander of the Purist Faction in Area 11.

If it was any other person in her situation, it was likely that this would be the moment that panic would onset. However, if anything, it caused her focus to sharpen. So as she brought herself back around from the corner, she quickly ran through her options, finding most of her choices were unpalatable and would likely lead to her being returned to Britannia.

She was burned, there was no way to avoid that. Unless she killed everyone involved in her capture, then the news of her survival would spread. And the fact that she did not have immediate information on who it was that was involved, there was no point in planning for that measure.

No-

That was when Jeremiah stepped around the corner, intent on checking upon his charge, his eyes widening at the same time Luciana's did, having not heard Jeremiah rise from where he was seated.

"Y-Y-Your Highness," Jeremiah stuttered, before suddenly dropping to a knee before her and bowing deeply, adding only more to the strangeness of the situation, "please forgive me."

Well, she certainly wasn't expecting this. Far from it, she had been expecting that the head of the Purist Faction would immediately try and force her back into the room she was in, or something else. She certainly wasn't expecting the type of bow that a liegeman would do.

The question became, as she stared at him, eyes wide, was what she should do in response. A thousand different scenarios flew through her head. But for the life of her, she couldn't think of a response that would take advantage of this situation.

So when lacking intelligence, you seek it.

"Please, rise Lord Jeremiah. I do not know why you ask for forgiveness."

Rising to his feet, she found herself further surprised that there were tears trekking down his eyes.

"Your Highness, I was a member of the last Empress Marianne's guard. It was at her grave that I swore with my blood to protect you and Princess Nunnally. I loved your mother too much to offer anything less."

 _Nunnally_ , she thought to herself, closing her eyes. The sounds of screaming and the smell of burnt flesh reverberating in her very soul. It took everything not to go back _there_. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, staring straight at the man, searching for any sign of deception, only to be met with none, only resolute dedication.

The more jaded part of her, the part of her that had been profoundly broken in the fires of the Kururugi Shrine, could only laugh with glee at the opportunity that was presented before her. However, there still remained some of that innocence, dying embers really, that openly sobbed at the idea of safe harbor. Of someone who could rescue her from the vast wilderness she had been trapped in, desperately surviving at the cost of everything else that had been her. It was a part of her that she loathed now, but still could not bring herself to truly kill off.

It was only as Villetta Nu came around the corner, that her decision was made for her.

"Would you protect me from all threats, both foreign...and Britannian?"

While Villetta's eyes widened slightly at the insinuation, truthful as it was, that Britannia had somehow wronged her, it was Jeremiah she found herself more focused upon. The narrowing of his eyes, the setting of his jaw, and the slight shake to him told her all that she needed to know that the man's actions were honest.

"All of them," he said solemnly, "my sword, my shield, my very life, it is all yours to spend, Your Highness. Against all your enemies."

She released a breath she hadn't even known she had been holding, a feeling burgeoning in her breast that could not help but acknowledge, to both her disgust and joy: hope. Even with all she had done, all the actions and plans she had put into play, this was truly the one that felt the most natural.

It was like a bird finding that its cage's door had been opened.

And it was at that moment, that the door to the condominium was kicked in, and several men stormed into the apartment, weapons at the ready.


End file.
